A Redone Revolution
by Luke's Crack Fics
Summary: Enjolras is tired with putting up with the amis, and with Lamarque dead, he won't have to for long. The Revolution is here and he'll do whatever it takes to win. Started with a surprising amount of coherency, but guaranteed to degrade into crack or your money back!
1. Chapter 1

Enjolras strolled up to the cafe, cigarette burning dramatically in his mouth. He could hear the voices of les amis de l'ABC inside. He listened for a moment, taking a long drag from his cig. No, not one of them was talking about the revolution. He wondered if it had been a bad idea to start a revolution with the hottest guys he could find rather than with actual patriots.

It didn't matter. He spat out the butt and ground it under his shoe. One way or another, it was all going to end soon. Then he would retire to the coast with a hero's fortune and maybe an ami or two.

A movement in the shadows caught his eye. "Who's there?"

"French Revolution!" came the small, cockney voice.

_Shit,_ thought Enjolras._ It's that gremlin._ He glanced around. If no one was looking, he might be able to just off this one and blame the king. He reached for his concealed dagger.

"General Lamarque is dead!" piped Gavroche, stepping towards Enjolras. He smiled as though he enjoyed being the bearer of bad news.

Enjolras felt manly tears come to his eyes. So it had finally happened. He pushed the Gavroche aside and strode into the cafe, hardly cracking a smile when he heard him tumble into the dirty gutter.

The cheerful chatter died the instant Enjolras graced the room with his presence. He looked from face to face, lingering on Grantaire's. Grantaire rolled his eyes and took a swig of some poison or other. Enjolras' heart fluttered in his chest. That man was truly like a democratically elected and constitutionally bound prince charming. His grace was unmitagated even when he was too drunk to walk.

Enjolras tore his gaze away and tried to remember what he had been going to say. Oh yeah. "General Lamarque, the last voice for the people, has-"

He was cut off by a sudden commotion. He heard crashing and a string of half-hearted apologies as it neared the room, and then Marius Pontmercy strode in.

"You're late, Pontmercy," said Enjolras.

"Sorry, big day," replied Pontmercy with his idiot grin. He took a seat by Joly. "Lots happened. I mean, wow."

Enjolras waited for him to get settled. "As I was saying, Lamarque, who has been the last bastion of-"

"Okay, okay," interrupted Pontmercy. "I'll tell. So there I was, walking with what's-her-name on what will now be known as Rue de la Hubba-Hubba, when this gorgeous chick just comes walking by."

"No one," said Enjolras, "was asking what happened. Nor does anyone care."

Grantaire looked at Enjolras with a mischievous twinkle in his gorgeous bloodshot eyes. "How hot was she?" he called to Marius.

"Ten out of ten," said Marius. "Would bang!"

"This is a needless distraction!" yelled Enjolras. "There is to be no 'banging' before my revolution!"

"Why not?" asked Courfeyrac. "It's not like you won't. We all know whose room you'll be spending the night in, Enjolras."

Grantaire lifted his bottle high and the nearest ami gave him a pat on the back. Enjolras' cheeks burned. Was there no propriety anymore?

"Everyone," stressed Enjolras, "Is sleeping alone tonight." He shot a pointed look at Grantaire, who simply stuck out his tongue and drank from his bottle as if to say_ I wouldn't be able to get it up anyhow._

Marius continued undeterred. "So I'm all, 'Ponine, you know your way around, right? Why don't you go figure out where that hot piece of ass lives so Pontmercy can get some."

"Pontmercy," said Enjolras, "if you say one more word, I swear to Patria that I'll-"

"Sorry, Enjy, can't wait. Eponine's back with news." And off he ran.

Enjolras took a deep breath. "Well, now that he's gone-"

"What if I only took home one girl?" asked Courfeyrac. "It's hardly banging if neither of us bring a friend."

Enjolras gave up.

"Lamarque's dead, bring your guns, practice your lyrics." He stormed off, grabbing Grantaire on the way.

"You hypocrite," whispered the drunk in his ear.

"I'm just seeing you to bed." Enjolras turned around. "I'm just seeing him to bed."

He didn't think it was necessary to mention the bed in question was his own.


	2. Chapter 2

For someone who was surely accustomed to hangovers, Grantaire did not cope well with them.

"Go 'way," he groaned when Enjolras tried to rouse him. He then vomited into the pot Enjolras had strategically placed next to the bed, wiped his mouth on the cloth on the bedside table, and buried his face in the pillow.

"Grantaire," said Enjolras sternly. "The funeral procession begins in two hours, and I know how long it takes you to get up after you've been drinking."

"'m not going," grunted Grantaire.

"Yes, you are, or so help me Patria I will lock you in a room with Pontmercy. Then we'll see how much you like hearing him go on and on about his woman without reprieve." Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by his hair and pulled him upright. Enjolras was not concerned about causing lasting harm, as he was really quite the hair puller in the heat of passion and knew Grantaire could take it.

"Gerroff!"

"No," said Enjolras simply. "Drink this." He handed Grantaire a cup of coffee, his usual hangover cure.

Grantaire drank deeply, grimacing at the bitter taste. When he was done, he set the half-full mug on the bed, where it promptly tipped and would have spilled had Enjolras not swooped down to save it. Distracted by this effort, though, he wasn't ready to steady Grantaire as he stood, and the poor man stepped in the pot of his own vomit, tripping, and somehow winding up covered in the foul liquid.

Enjolras sighed, and after making sure Grantaire was alright, went to get a bath ready. When it was prepared, he went to fetch Grantaire who had made the astonishing effort (for Grantaire) to try to wipe the floor clean with the cloth.

"C'mon, Taire," said Enjolras "Let's get you cleaned up." He guided Grantaire out of the room.

"Sorry I made a mess," mumbled Grantaire.

"It's okay. I've cleaned it up before. I know how," said Enjolras, helping the poor boy into the tub. "At least you weren't wearing any clothes. That could have ruined them."

"Guess so," said Grantaire. He was silent for a moment as Enjolras began to wash his hair for him. "Hey, wait. I'm naked!"

"That's how most people bathe," said Enjolras. "Don't worry, I won't peek."

That was a joke, of course. Enjolras enjoyed few sights more than this, and he drank in the view.

"But I was naked in your bed!" said Grantaire.

"I know. I could feel it. You held me tight most of the night."

Grantaire turned to look at him. "I was hardly conscious. I didn't know what was happening. How do I know you didn't take advantage of me?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "You know very well I didn't take advantage of you."

"How can I be sure?"

"Do you really think I did anything?"

"No!" exclaimed Grantaire. "And that's what bothers me."

"One," said Enjolras, "You were on the verge of passing out. It would be wrong to use you, even if you're always willing. Two, you were on the verge of passing out. There's hardly any point if I'm the only one awake. Three, I gave a very clear order last night. There is to be no banging before the revolution."

"Well I'm not passing out now," said Grantaire.

"You're hungover."

"A little quality time with my good Apollo would make it all better."

Enjolras hesitated. "I made a rule," he said weakly. "If a leader doesn't follow his own orders, why should everyone else?"

"You know Courfeyrac didn't listen," said Grantaire. "And if Joly didn't bed Muschietta last night, you know Bossuet did. Actually, you know they both must have."

"I know no such thing."

"Enjolras," said Grantaire, staring at him with his beautiful eyes. "It might be their last chance to say goodbye. Today might be the beginning of the new world you believe in, but people are going to get hurt. People will lose each other. Aren't they allowed to have one last chance to love?"

"Perhaps," said Enjolras, "I was a bit hasty with my order. Pontmercy riles me."

"Forget him," whispered Grantaire, raising a wet hand to cup Enjolras' cheek. "Focus on the present. And the present is me, naked and dripping in front of you, pleading for what we both want." He leaned forward and kissed Enjolras deeply. Enjolras couldn't resist, holding the back of Grantaire's head as they whet their appetites for each other. This was where he belonged, he knew. With Grantaire. How nice it would be to just be together and not have to worry about getting killed in the revolution.

He abruptly pulled away. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I have to be an example."

Grantaire slid back into the tub, looking away and pouting. Enjolras sighed, and resumed working on Grantaire's hair. When he finished, he left to go prepare Grantaire a breakfast.

He meant to, at least. Somewhere along the way, though, he must have gotten lost, because he ended up in the tub with Grantaire. At least his clothes had vanished. It would not do to get them wet.

Grantaire did not object to his hair being pulled this time.


	3. Chapter 3

As he stood in the crowd, Enjolras was extraordinarily self-aware. In less than an hour, he would stand before all true patriots as the leader of the revolution that finally worked. And leaders needed three things: vision, which he had in abundance (though he occasionally would don an old pair of spectacles in the shelter of his room to read the newspaper); charisma, of which he had enough to get even a politically groundless drunk like Grantaire to follow him; and good looks. Enjolras had always known that he had an acceptable appearance, Adonis-like if you would, but today was just his day. After his adventure that morning, he had a healthy glow about him, and as his hair had dried on the way over, it had become the most dazzling crown to ever rest upon the head of a republican. He was already filled with passion for his cause, and it made him tall and commanding. In short, he was looking sickening. In the good way.

He thought he heard for a second the sound of distant drumbeats, and he knew it was time. He made his way to the front of the crowd, stopping to greet sympathizers and to give each ami a firm handshake and a word of encouragement. When he reached the street, he looked down it and saw the coming hearse. He quickly reached in his pocket to grab the two items he would need. Then he contented himself to wait until the hearse neared.

It was a sad sight indeed. Here lay General Jean Maximilien Lamarque, the last great hero of the people, but no one could guess it by looking. The entire operation couldn't have cost more than a thousand francs. A man like Lamarque deserved a hero's procession, with the whole of the army present, foreign dignataries around to pay their respects, and at least an archangel or two. Was that too much to ask?

When the procession began to pass by Enjolras, he called out three harsh words that somehow rose above the noise of the crowd. The sheer alien horror of the language caused more than a few old women to faint, and everyone fell silent. As they did so, Enjolras raised his first item to his lips: a pitch pipe. He blew a perfect B flat, and behind him Courfeyrac called out "One, two, three and-". In perfect sync, all of les amis burst into the ancient song. The skies darkened and a bitter wind began to blow. Enjolras strode forward, les amis following him out of the crowd, and walked directly to the hearse. He climbed atop it, acutely aware that the cape he had chosen for the day's work was billowing perfectly in the wind. He certainly cut a dramatic figure. Quite literally, in fact. He was a dramatic figure, and he drew a dagger across his wrist. Not deep enough to kill himself, of course, but deep enough that blood ran freely from the wound onto the coffin.

The eldritch words which raked out of his throat like broken glass wove themselves into the dark song sung by les amis. The soldiers who until now had been reeling in confusion suddenly bolted. Enjolras let the go. His only concern was finishing the spell.

He looked over the crowd as he spoke and saw their fear. Did they not see that he was freeing them from the illegitimate authority that reigned as tyrant above them? No matter, soon they would-

Wait. He looked back at the crowd, scanning carefully. Yes, there was Pontmercy. Just when it had been shaping up to be a good day. Running through the crowd, he burst into the street in front of the hearse.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "I was thinking about Cosette and I lost track of time. Well, I wasn't just thinking. When I think of her, I get excited, so I was relieving the tension, if you know what I mean."

Without ceasing his chant, Enjolras grabbed his pistol from his belt.

"I mean," said Pontmercy, "That I was mas-"

And with the pull of a trigger, the buffoon finally was silent. He fell to the ground, his mouth agape. Even in death, it seemed, he wouldn't shut it. Some girl from the crowd ran out to cradle the body. Enjolras thought he had seen her before. Oh, it was the stalker who had some sort of weird crush on him. Or had had. Unless she was into really weird stuff, she probably was getting over him really quickly.

Or maybe she was going to be angry. The girl-what was her name? Pony?-stood up and looked at Enjolras. She drew a long thin knife from her dress.

Enjolras aimed at her and pulled the trigger, but the gun didn't fire.

Pony drew back her arm, readying to throw.

Enjolras began the last phrase of the chant.

The steel blade was leaving her hand.

He shouted the last syllable and les amis all fell silent.

The sharp point hurtled straight for Enjolras' chest. It was too late to move; he was going to die just as his revolution began.

Suddenly, an arm burst through the coffin lid and grabbed the knife. Wood shattered as General Lamarque stood up again. He looked at Enjolras with his ghastly dead eyes, then dropped to his knees before him.

"My lord," he said. "You have returned me to life."

"Or the semblance thereof," said Enjolras. "You know what they say: you can't make an omelet without reanimating the lifeless husk of an admired icon with a blasphemous ritual and use him to start and lead a zombie army to topple a king. Or something like that."

It was then he heard the awful sound of the voice he knew too well from in front of tha carriage.

"Don't worry Enjolras! I'm okay! I guess the bullet didn't get anything too importa- hey! I'm sparkly now!"


	4. Chapter 4

Everything had gone downhill rather quickly. Enjolras blamed Pontmercy entirely. If he had had the good sense to stay dead like everyone wanted him to be (not counting Pony, but she was more than a little cray) the crowd would have been awed and joined the revolution right there. Instead, the grown men all began to laugh and the tween girls in attendance gave a scream in unison and rushed for the glittering halfwit.

Pony, of course, wouldn't let them near, and when one admirer reached out to touch Pontmercy, she killed her with a single jab to the nose. The girls swarmed her then, and Enjolras was impressed at the rate the bodies accumulated. She was probably more proficient martial arts than anyone in revolutionary France. Not that that was a difficult feat, but still.

"'Ponine really knows her way around a fight, doesn't she?"

Enjolras turned to see Pontmercy was suddenly beside him. He fumbled for his dagger. "How did you get here?" he shouted.

"Oh, I'm really fast now. I dunno. But do you think you could ask her to keep some of them alive. That one looks like she might be eighteen, and I think she wants to suck my-"

He looked down to see the blade in his chest.

"Huh. I guess I don't get hurt now either. Hey, now I can get that piercing I always wanted. Can you guess where I'm gonna get it? Hey Enjy? Can you guess? I bet you can't guess." He leaned in very close. "I'm gonna have them pierce my-"

"Lamarque!" cried Enjolras in panic, and the General instantly tackled Pontmercy. "Throw up my dagger" shouted Enjolras, and moments later, it landed at his feet. He picked it up and wiped it absentmindedly on the coffin. He heard hoofbeats and looked up. A contingent of soldiers was marching down the street.

"How do we stand?" he hissed back to his amis. "Feuilly, make your report."

"If it comes to a fight? We have no chance. No chance at all."

Courfeyrac bent near to offer his sage advice. "Why throw our lives away?"

"Okay," said Enjolras. "We'll retreat and build a barricade. I love me a barricade. We'll be climbing all up in that bitch. But first we need the public sympathy. Combeferre, you can still use mind control on the weak-willed, right?"

Pontmercy popped his bleeding head over the edge of the hearse, his eyes glazed in a trance. "Certainly," he said. "I'm doing it right now." Then Combeferre's influence left him and he returned to reality. "Help me!" he screamed. "He's trying to eat my brain!"

"Good luck finding it," muttered Enjolras as Pontmercy was dragged back to the street. "Okay, 'Ferre. I need you to take control of one of the soldiers and have him shoot the cutest little old lady you can find in the crowd. That should associate the Royalists with murderers in the eyes of the public."

Combeferre closed his eyes for a moment, and a shot rang out. There was a scream from the crowd.

"Bahorel," said Enjolras, "Take his gun so the people see that we bring justice."

Bahorel leapt of the hearse, landing twenty yards away, just in front of the horses. He leapt up behind the soldier grabbed his gun and knocked him out with its butt. Soldier still in the saddle, he directed the horse back to the hearse.

"Jehan, tell the horses where to go."

Jean Prouvaire stepped to the front of the hearse and whispered to the horses harnessed to it gently. He kissed them both on the nose and placed flower crowns on each one's head. They nuzzled him and turned around, pulling the hearse towards freedom.

"Lamarque! Delay the soldiers," shouted Enjolras.

The general ran at the horseman, dragging Pontmercy with him. As Enjolras was turning away, he thought he saw Lamarque using him as a club.

He heard screams rise behind them as they drove away from the scene. Shots were fired, but thanks to Lamarque, none seemed to be aimed at the hearse. They turned a corner and were soon safe. Enjolras saw Bahorel riding far ahead of them. Good, he would bring word to get ready. Barricades were a team effort.

Speaking of team, he ought to make sure all of les amis were okay. He looked around and saw no glaring injuries, but he had to be sure. He went to each of them one by one, and they all claimed to be well and excited. Except for Grantaire of course. He insisted he was barely alive and bored to death. Which was the usual for Grantaire so that was fine. So the only person left to ask was the new guy.

"You okay?" asked Enjolras.

"Yes," said the man stiffly. "I am doing very well because I am thrilling with the sick pleasure of murdering innocent hardworking men who are only trying to serve their country. I am also excited at the prospect of breaking the sacred law in order to depose the legitimate ruler of this country and set up a shoddy replacement government run by half-educated schoolboys."

"O...kay," said Enjolras. Some people were just weird. "And what's your name?"

"I am Jav-" the man stopped. "I mean... Jacques. Swear by the stars."

"Liar!" piped up a small voice.

Enjolras turned to see the munchkin. What the hell was that doing here? "Go away, Gavroche. You're not our mascot."

"But I know this man! He's called-"

Enjolras kicked him off the hearse. He made a satisfying thump when he hit the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

Building the barricade was exhilhirating work. Not that Enjolras partook of the labor. That was for the lesser amis like Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Jehan, and Feuilly and- Really it was for everyone from the hearse but him. Grantaire should have helped too, but he was off somewhere, probably drinking himself into a stupor. At least he was safe for now.

"Joly!" shouted Enjolras. "That wagon should go on the other side of the barricade. This side is too wagony already."

"But Enjolras, it's under a piano."

"So take the piano off of it. Actually, no. Leave it on. Bring them both. And fix the piano. It would be great to have some background music while we fight."

"It would be easier if Bahorel helped."

At the mention of Bahorel Enjolras glanced up to the top of the barricade, where the afternook sunlight was illuminating the daunting musculature of the shirtless ami. Enjolras only allowed himself a brief glance, but the glistening demigod remained in his mind's eye long after he looked away.

"No, no," Enjolras said. "I need him on top." He smiled at his accidental double entendre. Or was it a Freudian slip?

"There's nothing heavy on top. We should bring him down here."

"Yes, there's nothing heavy. And he wants to work, I'm sure. So I sent him up there. You saw what had happened to the soldier by the time we got here. He needs to be punished for that." Enjolras did not mention that Bahorel's placement was also a reward to himself for his revolution's beginning.

"Well if you won't call him down here, I don't see how I'm getting this wagon moved."

"And the piano," corrected Enjolras. "I'll give you someone. Hey! New guy! Get over here and help Joly."

Jacques came over from the place where he had been strategically removing what Enjolras had thought were key support structures. This guy must have been an engineer or something. He knew when less was more. Mind, the barricade was now waving slightly in the breeze, but Enjolras wasn't going to fuss over the details.

"Jacques, this is Joly. Help him move this piano and its wagon to the other side."

Jacques looked at the load he was to move and paled. He turned to Enjolras. "But the soldiers are coming."

"Yes," said Enjolras. "Which is why we need this piano up and ready for some dramatic atmosphere. And maybe a few show tunes if the mood gets too depressing."

"But I can find out the truth!" Jacques claimed.

"What truth?"

"I know their ways."

"You mean the royalists? How?"

"Fought their wars-served my time."

"When?"

"In the days of my youth."

"You're a spy, aren't you?" asked Enjolras.

Jacques took a step back and reached for something hidden in his sleeve. Enjolras just smiled.

"This is perfect!" he said. "I was just thinking that we needed a spy. Can you go spyify on the soldiers?"

"Yes...?" said Jacques.

"Perfect! Let me give you a gun, a handcannon, a detailed plan of our fortifications so you know which way to come back, a list of all our co-conspiritors in case you can't find us and need help, and an autographed picture of me as payment, because let me tell you that will be worth something!"

Jacques stood with his mouth agape, then shook his head and climbed over the barricade, pulling out bits here and there.

"Who's the new guy?"

Enjolras wheeled around in horror to see Pontmercy standing directly behind him. How had he snuck up on him, especially now that he sparkled like something exceedingly sparkly? Damn it, Enjolras couldn't even think of appropriate similes around this man. He was like a... thing that made you stupid.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, after Lamarque stopped using me as a club, he told me he was going to find some brains. Apparently they're only tasty fresh, and all the soldiers' were already smashed to pieces. I asked him why he didn't eat 'Ponine's, but apparently she's too scary."

"And we both know why he didn't eat yours," said Enjolras.

"Because we're friends!" said Marius. Was he actually that stupid? "So then I went to go sex up Cosette. I think she'll totally let me do her if I'm sparkly. Women, amirite? But she was gone, so I tried to drown myself, but that didn't work, so then I came here. I thought maybe you'd have some chicks up ins. Instead it's a sausage fest. Lame. The only tits I saw were Bahorel's, but that's the opposite of hot, so I ran to the store and stole a shirt for him. I run really fast now."

Enjolras looked up and saw that Bahorel was indeed now fully clothed. "You... gave him a shirt."

"Yep! It would be weird to be at a barricade with a half-naked dude. It'd be all gross and gay."

Enjolras' mind seethed with rage as he tried to figure out how to kill Marius. The problem was the bigoted buffoon was now apparently impervious to conventional weapons. He considered trying to at least punch him in the face hard enough to break that smile-

That smile.

Pontmercy had two long spiked teeth. Enjolras knew of only one undead creature of that sort. And suddenly his course of action seemed very clear.

"Marius, do me a favor and check if the restaurant down the street is any good. I want to throw everyone a surprise pizza party for their hard work. And take this." He handed Pontmercy a five franc note.

"Get yourself some garlic breadsticks."


	6. Chapter 6

Enjolras had two lists. One was his To-Do list. The other was his To-Kill list. During the course of the day, he would occasionally find himself inspired to add an item to one list or the other. If he already had written the same thing on the list, he still added it. This helped him see the relative importance of each item.

Grantaire featured heavily on both lists.

Now that work on the Barricade was finished for the day, Enjolras took some time to make a few changes to the To-Kill List. First, he crossed off seventy-three instances of Pontmercy, as he had succesfully killed the idiot earlier that day. Then, he began to add the name back again, for each time Marius had done something to deserve death since he became undead. Eight, by Enjolras' count. This was all right, though. Soon enough, he could cross them off again. Just let the garlic do its work.

He glanced up from his chair, which was balanced precariously atop the barricade. The stars were oozing across the void, nearing their places. Soon enough, they would click into their sockets, and dead gods would wake again. They would rise from their impossible cities to stalk the earth again, claiming their place as the kings and queens of the cattle that is man. Or, at least, that's what Enjolras' horoscope for this week said.

Suddenly, Enjolras became aware of footsteps heading toward the barricade. He stood up, and his chair tumbled loudly down the structure. Stealthy. He drew his dagger, just in case, but he was almost certain that it would be Jacques, returning from his spy mission. Good Lord, Jacques was great. It was nice to know that he had someone he could trust with the lives of everyone he knew and with missions of vital importance to the revolution. If everyone were like Jacques, they wouldn't need a revolution. Even a monarchy would be bearable with people that nice and trustworthy everywhere.

Enjolras decided that if Grantaire ever got him pregnant in some horrific yet cliched mpreg fashion, he would ask Jacques to be the godfather.

A figure rounded the corner, and Enjolras gaped in horror at the abomination that was Marius' mini-me, Gavroche. Not that they looked or acted anything alike or even ever interacted. It's just that Enjolras hated them both. Marius for his everything, and Gavroche for his stupid little cockney accent. How did a French street rat get a cockney accent? It didn't make any sense. The French hated the English more than they hated the English, and wow did they hate the English.

It was time to end it. With a flick of his wrist, Enjolras threw his dagger at the beast.

A hand shot out from behind the wall and caught it. Following Gavroche came Pony, dressed as a boy, but not a hot one like Grantaire. More like what Enjolras imagined the monarchy would look like anthropomorphisized. Even if she weren't totes fugly, she was still way too womanly for Enjolras' taste. He liked his men manly. His women too. Patria was surely manly. Not bearded-lady manly, but manly. She'd have a voice like Cher's, you know? Not a face like Cher, though, not that he disliked Cher's face. But Cher had a pretty woman face.

"Enjolras!" said Pony, snapping Enjolras from his anachronistic references to the only singer to have a number one single in six consecutive decades on the Billboard charts. "If Marius weren't alive again, I'd kill you for this."

"If I could turn back time," muttered Enjolras, "He'd still be dead."

"What?" asked Pony.

"I said, I was just making sure your gremlin there's strong enough."

"You don't honestly believe you have to throw knives at my brother to prove he's strong enough, do you?"

"Of course! After all-" Enjolras stopped. "Wait. Your brother?"

"We may be living in a house divided, but yes. We're siblings."

"Oh. I only just saw the musical for the first time, so I must have missed it."

"Oh, wasn't it good? Colm Wilkinson is the best Valj- nevermind. That doesn't even matter. This fic is being posted in the book section anyway, and it's clearly established in the book."

"It's all or nothing with you, isn't it? We start becoming self-aware or something, and you even reference the fact that this-"

Enjolras stopped in midsentence. There was a rumbling noise. He knew something had gone terribly wrong. Pony began to laugh.

"It's too late to fix it," said Pony. "Not even talking in titles of Cher's singles will save you now."

For an awful moment, there was silence. And then a thundrous roar rang out in the night. Into the street poured les amis, as dust billowed from the building behind them. Enjolras scanned the group for Grantaire, worried that he might have been hurt in whatever disaster had befallen them. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the drunk holding his head with a grimace some yards behind Courfeyrac, whose modesty was barely preserved only by the three women he must have elected to spend the night with, who still clung to him.

Enjolras drank in the sight of everything those women didn't cover and made brief mental note to add Courf to his To-Do list.

"What happened?" asked Enjolras, as Bossuet escaped the building cradling Joly who was in turn cradling Musichetta, who was in turn cradling Bossuet.

"The fourth wall!" cried Combeferre. "It's collapsed!"

"Our rear's exposed," said Jehan, who was absolutely adorable in his bunny-slippers and feety pajamas. The sight was enough for Enjolras to want a To-Hug list, or maybe a To-Cuddle/Snuggle list.

"Okay, calm down!" said Enjolras. "It could be worse."

Just then, Pony let out a noise of glee, and an awful laughter filled Enjolras' ears as a cloud of garlic breath choked him.

"Did you hear that, Enjy? Jehan said that our rear's exposed. Heh heh."


End file.
